Shayla "Sh. . . shall I go?"  The words trailed off as she gestured with a frail hand behind her towards the door.  She knew she had broken protocol with her actions, but under the circumstances she had been guided by fear more than anything else. 

Marbled eyes swam in moisture, but her cheeks remained dry as she struggled with an unfamiliar monologue.  She sat on the edge of the chair, looking like a little bird perched on a limb.  Clearing her throat several times before she began, she took a deep breath and started. 

"A bar collapsed next to Beruna.  There were so many inside.  Branten had just gone to see what they were doing.  He was in a terrible foul mood.  The peasants had asked permission to raise the barn previously, and Branten had not seen fit to answer them. . . I guess . . . I guess they thought silence was an agreement."  

She twisted the material in her hands worrying it fiercely. 

"I understand if you have no men to assist. . . " Her voice trailed off in the weak attempt at being self-less. "Please, can't you do something?"  

Her eyes implored him and she looked ready to literally fly out the door on gossamer wings at any quick movement from him.  Still something inside of her held tight and waited for his reply.  She worried the material between her fingers as a tear threatened to spill over her cheek.  It wasn't for Branten, no not for him, and that made it all the more vile. . .